


plain as day

by Emlee_J



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Hinata-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Second and Third Year Kagehina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: "Mmhmm,” Kageyama hums. “Y’look good.”“I don’t, but thank-you,” Shouyou says with smile, because he doesn’t – his skin is shower-pink and his hair is doing all sorts of weird and wonderful things, wild until he gets a comb through it, and he really is just standing there in his underwear. He hasn’t even got a nice shirt on or anything. In fact, compared to Kageyama, who’s over a head taller and sculpted with pretty eyes and glossy hair that does not stick up every which way, he just looks a little normal. Normal with electric hair.-In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 198
Kudos: 2523





	plain as day

**Author's Note:**

> i just love hinata okay he deserves everything he wants

Shouyou was four when he came to understand that having orange hair is a little unusual.

“Why are you orange?” Another kid asked him one day, a little girl with blonde hair in tiny pigtails.

Shouyou had tilted his head at her, confused. He knew what orange was (obviously), he was very good at colours. But he didn’t understand what the little girl who had come to join him in the sandpit in the local park meant.

The girl had pointed at his head and he had reached up until his small chubby hands were touching his hair.

“Oh,” he had said, once he realised what she meant. "I dunno.”

She had shrugged, seemingly content with his ignorance, and plopped down in the sand next to him, shovelling sand into her bucket.

Shouyou had stopped making his own sandman (he’d discovered snowmen earlier that year and was currently on a mission to make them out of as many things as possible) and looked around the park. It was the first day the weather had been mild in a while, and so the park was busier than it had been recently. People were everywhere – children as small as him, some older kids, and adults all around (his Mum was there on a bench, talking to one he didn’t recognise.) And not one single person that he could see had orange hair like he did – it was a sea of blacks and browns and muted yellows.

“Why is my hair orange?” Shouyou had asked his mother when they were leaving the park, his small hand clasped tightly in hers.

“Hmm?” Mum had hummed, looking down at him with a blink.

He waved his free hand at his hair.

“Oh! Because you’re lucky,” she had said, smiling warm and wide and swinging their clasped hands to and fro. “Lots of people have black hair, or brown… or blonde - that’s the gold one - but red? That’s rare.”

Shouyou had stopped walking alongside her then, small face crumpled into a big, confused frown. “Red?” He said, crossing his eyes to look to try and look at his fringe. “I thought it was orange.”

Mum had laughed, and crouched down to meet him. “Well, if you have brown hair you’re brunet, and if it’s yellow you’re blond, and if it’s orange, we say that you’re a ‘redhead’ because you have ‘red' hair.”

“Why?” Shouyou tilted his head at her, still confused.

“Because adults are silly,” Mum had said, standing upright and tugging at his hand until he was skipping alongside her again. “And some kids might call you silly names, but there’s nothing wrong with your hair, sweetheart.”

And call him silly names they did. Ginger, carrot-top, copper-top… all sorts. Shouyou got used to it quickly, and it never really bothered him – if all they could find to call him names over was his hair, then that was okay, he thought.

Shouyou is ten when Natsu is born.

She’s tiny and wrinkly and makes _a lot_ of noise, but most importantly, she has a fuzz of bright orange hair the same shade as his.

Shouyou is delighted.

As she gets bigger, her hair grows into fine orange ringlets and then finally into the same soft flame-red waves he has.

Lots of kids have said things about his hair, and Shouyou is used to the names and the looks, but he makes sure to tell his precious new baby sister that having red hair is special and rare and if anyone says anything mean she was to tell her big brother right away.

Natsu’s only two, but he thinks she gets the gist.

Shouyou is fourteen when he finally comes to terms that the only other striking thing about him, other than his hair, is that he is short.

He’s not super short or anything, but he is short for volleyball, which is the important thing.

His mind is filled with replays of the Little Giant on tv – soaring high above everyone else and scoring point after point, and as he jumps high above his own peers in gym classes, he almost forgets about his height.

Until the match against Kitagawa First, where his height and inexperience were rubbed in his face in a thirty minute annihilation.

(He remembers later, though, after he had gotten home and tried to force his dinner past his throat, tight with the effort of holding back tears, how the only person that day who had made no mention of his height at all was Kageyama Tobio.)

Shouyou will spend much of the next few years struggling with how his lack of a few centimetres is so important to how well he can play - how people view his _ability_ to play - the best sport in the world.

But outside the world of volleyball, as encompassing as it is, Shouyou doesn’t think about it much and by the time he reaches high school, there are plenty of boys his height and lot of girls are the same or shorter.

He’s a little below average in height, and his hair is bright and looks wild and unkempt, always, and that’s sort of it.

So Shouyou doesn’t think much about his appearance, just that he’s sort of plain, and he doesn’t much care, until high school throws him yet another curveball.

It’s not that he hasn’t noticed other peoples’ attractiveness. He’s noticed girls and thought them to be pretty and looked at boys and thought them to be handsome. He’s stared at people in his classroom and in the hallways in an appreciative way and thought about some people late night under the covers alone in his bedroom.

But somehow it completely escapes him that other people also think these things too, and in high school apparently everyone just starts _talking_ about it.

Shouyou is fifteen when confessions become a _thing._

It’s a common conversation topic at lunch times, where he sits with his classmates and stuffs his face and tries not to daydream too much about volleyball when his friends wax lyrical about the girls they like. He answers when prodded – _yes I think she’s pretty too, no I don’t have anyone in particular I like_. That last one is a bit of a lie, but he can’t bring himself to be honest about it when he’s in private yet alone in a crowded classroom.

As his first year of high school moves on, he sometimes overhears girls giggling and talking about the older boys in school. Occasionally he sees the girls in his class hunched over their desks in a huddle, helping one girl write a letter confessing her feelings to the boy she likes. Boys dither around the groups, hoping the letters are for them, or pushing and taunting their friends into being the one to make the first move. Shouyou, for the most part, ignores all of it.

(Though he does pay attention to one incident. There are two girls, who sit side-by-side in front of Shouyou in class, who exchange letters and notes during lessons for the better part of their first year. Just folded over scraps of paper before they steadily become more elaborate and fancy and Shouyou wonders why until he spots them tentatively linking fingers when the teacher isn’t looking in the gap between their desks. For some reason, the sight makes him feel warm and bright and bubbly for the rest of the day.)

Shouyou goes through his entire first year in high school without receiving a single confession – no notes in his locker, no-one pulling him awkwardly and shyly aside, no-one passing on a message from someone else.

And this is fine, Shouyou really isn’t bothered, because volleyball is far more important anyway, until Kageyama and Tsukishima both start getting attention at the very end of their first year.

Shouyou protests about it, loudly and to anyone who will listen (normally Yachi and Yamaguchi, because they are sympathetic), that this is grossly unfair. That Kageyama and Tsukishima are only getting attention because they are tall and broody but they’re also annoying and shouldn’t be getting any confessions at all.

“You’re being childish,” Tsukishima tells him one day, at the very end of their first year. Kageyama was late to practice because a girl held him up with a letter and Shouyou had been complaining about it at the upper end of acceptable indoor volume. The blocker just flicks him on the forehead when he starts to squawk indignantly, even though he knows – _yes,_ he is being childish.

“They’re just annoying – do you really want one that badly?” Kageyama asks him when practice is done and they’re on the walk home, Shouyou’s bike chain clicking as he pushes it along beside him.

Shouyou considers this question, and then he considers Kageyama’s face too. His setter is frowning, of course, but it’s one of those tight frowns. Shouyou’s long since realised that Kageyama’s face just settles into a grumpy sort of expression naturally, even if he’s a neutral mood, and if the lines around his face are little more pronounced than usual? Then he’s angry, or upset. Shouyou can tell.

“… Not really,” Shouyou admits, face turned up to the dark winter sky, his breath puffing out in little clouds in front of him.

Kageyama huffs and hunches his shoulders, burying his nose further into his scarf and coat collar, and doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t want one, because he’d only have to turn them down anyway, and Shouyou doesn’t like upsetting people, but maybe, just maybe, he kind of wants the attention. A little bit. He understands, objectively, why Tsukishima and Kageyama are more popular now – they’re attractive and were on tv and were _cool_ , but…

But Shouyou was there too, at Nationals.

A gloved hand biffs him, gently, over the head and he whips his gaze from the night sky to glare at Kageyama who’s staring at him impassively.

Shouyou huffs and pouts because he _knows_ that look. It’s the same one Kageyama gives him when he talks about height too much during practice (or his lack of it), or when he used to gush about the Little Giant. It’s the look that says _‘stop being_ jealous _, you can only be yourself.’_

“Are they really that annoying?” He mumbles, tightening his grip on his handlebars.

“Yup,” Kageyama states, returning his gaze to the street in front of them.

“… Okay,” Shouyou says, still a little bothered by the whole thing, but also a little appeased. If Kageyama finds them annoying at least, then that makes it a bit better.

When second year starts, there’s a break in the confessions – until the interhigh qualifiers.

With the new tournament brings renewed interest in the Karasuno boys’ volleyball team, this time from admirers in their year and the year below and one day Shouyou hovers outside of Kageyama’s classroom with folded arms and a huff as his best friend fends off a particularly bold first year.

“Another one, huh?” A voice pipes up next to him and his head tilts until he spots Yachi beside him, looking sympathetic.

“Yep,” Shouyou replies, popping the p. “Popularyama as always.”

He’s stopped complaining about it – out loud at least. They had underclassmen now and he didn’t want to look childish and stupid in front of them, and he knew now Kageyama and Tsukishima really didn’t enjoy the attention they received. They never gloated about it, at least.

(Yamaguchi had received his first one last week, and even though he’d turned the girl down, he’d been so thrilled about it that Shouyou couldn’t help be excited for him too. A turning point maybe, he thinks.)

But although some of the jealousy is wearing off, there’s something about watching Kageyama in particular get confessed to that makes something dark and slimy and awful curl in Shouyou’s gut unpleasantly. He can’t even begin to name the feeling, only that it bothers him.

Yachi pats his upper arm. “Well, I have a confession myself!” She says cheerfully, and Shouyou blinks down at her with an intrigued hum.

“I think you’re really, _really_ cool, Hinata,” she says, her voice a little wobbly, but bright and earnest and sincere.

Shouyou grins at her, warmth spreading down to his toes and chasing away a little of the darkness in his belly. “Thanks Yachi! I think you’re really cool too,” he says, honestly, and throws one arm around her narrow shoulders to draw her into a tight hug against his side.

She loops her arms around his chest and squeezes back fiercely, before drawing away just as Kageyama steps out of his classroom. The first year squeezes past the setter through the door way and darts away down the hall. The sight helps chase away the last of the unease.

“Were you mean?” Shouyou asks, waggling his eyebrows at his best friend.

“ _No_ ,” Kageyama growls, taking a swipe at Shouyou’s head, who ducks with a snicker and Yachi has to herd them down the hall so they can finally head outside to eat.

Shouyou is sixteen when he makes the biggest decision of his life.

Somewhere in the midst of summer, Shouyou starts making plans with Takeda-Sensei, Coach Ukai and Coach Washijo to go Brazil when he graduates to play beach volleyball. He doesn’t tell anyone except his family at first – it’s a bright, exciting and very scary thing, and he isn’t sure how he’d handle it if his friends were negative about it.

He tells Kageyama, though, of course. His friend is looking over his shoulder as he watches a game between Brazil and Poland and when he asks about it Shouyou blurts his news out.

Kageyama doesn’t say anything at first, just gives him a strange, long look. Then the bell is ringing to signal the start of lessons and they’re whisked away and it’s not until they’re the first ones at the gym later that afternoon and setting up that it’s brought up again.

“Brazil, huh?” Kageyama asks, _so_ quietly, as he winches up the net. He’s not looking at Shouyou.

So Shouyou instead stares into the ball basket and says: “yeah,” as firm and strong as he can manage.

“So you can get strong?”

“At everything,” Shouyou confirms, finally lifting his eyes to find Kageyama looking straight at him. He’s got that same expression that he gets just before a big game, before they’re stepping onto the court for the final match of a tournament.

Kageyama steps over and picks up one of the balls from the basket, spinning it intermittently between his palms. “You’ll be far away,” he comments.

“I want to play on the best teams in the Japan. In the _world_. I’m not settling. And this is the best way to get there,” Shouyou says, keeping his voice level even as his heart trips over in his chest. This is big, this is really, _really_ important to him and if Kageyama scoffs or says something stupid he’ll-

“Do your best then,” Kageyama says suddenly, gripping the ball he's holding firmly in one large palm and raising it to butt it gently against Shouyou’s sternum. “Don’t waste any time.”

A grin splits its way across Shouyou’s face as relief spreads through him. He raises his own hands to clasp the volleyball where it’s still pressed against his chest, resting his fingers over the back of Kageyama’s large hand. “I won’t. Not a single second.”

Kageyama holds his gaze and although his brow is still furrowed, his mouth softens – the corners edging up a soft little smile.

Shouyou’s breath stutters.

See, he’s looked at boys and thought them handsome many times. But recently, he’s only been really looking at _one_ boy. One, who even though he’s sort of frowny and mean sometimes, and takes too many swipes at his head, really is _very_ handsome. Straight nose and glossy hair and strong, sturdy shoulders with delicate hands and the bluest eyes. Who stands on a volleyball court over a half a foot taller than him and is considered by everyone a prodigy, but who also takes him seriously and treats him like an equal.

And it’s taken a while, but Shouyou’s started to identify that horrible murky feeling he gets when he sees girls push love letters into Kageyama’s hands – something between jealousy and annoyance and _want_. Because at first he was just annoyed he wasn’t also getting attention but now he wants to be the one who’s _giving_ that attention.

He presses his fingerpads firmer into the skin of Kageyama’s hand, feeling the smooth bumps and ridges of the bones and tendons below. The crease between Kageyama’s brows deepens, just a bit.

“I’m really going to miss you,” Shouyou says hoarsely, staring up at Kageyama with a boldness he doesn’t really feel. “I’m going to miss everyone when I’m out there, but I’m going to miss _you_ the most.”

Something in Kageyama’s expression crumples. “I guess I’ll miss you too.”

The ball between them drops to the floor and rolls away as Shouyou threads both arms around Kageyama’s waist and squeezes him tight, burying his face in the stupid jumper that he’s wearing even though it’s the middle of summer. “You _guess?_ ” He mumbles indignantly into the fabric.

Fingers grip at his shoulders and Kageyama hums above him, the sound reverberating through his ribcage and against Shouyou’s cheek. For a moment, Shouyou stays there, pressed up against his best friend and tries to stay still even though he’s nervous and giddy and unsure. Then Kageyama’s hands loosen their grip on his shoulders and they’re spreading across his upper back until his setter is cradling him too and Shouyou has to breathe slowly past the tightening in his throat.

Slowly, he emerges from the folds of Kageyama’s jumper and rocks up onto his toes, studying Kageyama’s face for any signs that he should stop and, finding none, he presses his lips feather-light to the other’s. The contact is brief, too brief really, but Shouyou is horribly embarrassed and his heart is thundering so he drops back down onto the soles of his feet anyway and reburies his burning face in Kageyama’s collarbone.

But Kageyama doesn’t shove him away or complain or shout – instead, Shouyou feels him bend, just slightly, until his cheek his resting on top of Shouyou’s head.

“When do you go?” Kageyama asks, after a beat of silence.

“Coach Washijou says I have to prepare for a year after graduation.”

A puff of air ruffles his hair. “A year, huh?”

“Mmhm,” Shouyou hums, before summoning his courage to squash away the last of his embarrassment to lean back so he can see Kageyama’s face clearly again. He’s a little cheered to see his best friend’s cheeks are just as pink as his are. “So don’t waste any time?” He asks.

A twitch of lips and there’s a flash of that devilish smirk before Kageyama’s swooping down for a kiss that’s very much not a brief brush of lips.

Shouyou is seventeen, and still short with very bright hair, but he _has_ given one confession and gained himself a boyfriend.

The next couple of weeks are little awkward, as they both dither around each other wondering what they should be doing now that everything has changed. Until they realise that nothing has changed much at all, really, they can just do _more_ with each other.

Once again, Shouyou makes it through another year without receiving a single confession, and honestly he doesn’t really care at all now because he has Kageyama, but he still makes mention of it towards the end of the year. They’re sitting outside because even though it’s January and it’s cold, it’s also bright and sunny and actually quite pleasant.

“Because you have a _boyfriend,_ ” Tsukishima points out, giving him an exhausted look over his glasses.

“That’s not stopping Kageyama receiving them still,” Shouyou shoots back and then points over Tsukishima’s head with his chopsticks. “Look, here comes one now.”

Kageyama looks up with alarm and even Tsukishima looks around with interest – but no-one’s there. Shouyou snickers into his lunch as Kageyama lightly kicks at his ankle.

Shouyou is eighteen when someone other than Kageyama expresses interest in him.

It’s autumn in their third year, just after they’ve punched their third and final ticket to Spring Nationals that someone finally pulls Shouyou aside after class.

It’s not a pretty girl, but rather a tall, sweet looking boy Shouyou doesn’t recognise.

The boy’s name is Honda, and he’s in the year below, and he plays on the school basketball team.

Shouyou nods through the introduction politely, wondering where this is going and also how long it’s going to take because he has plans with Kageyama to get some practice in during lunch.

Honda tells him he’s seen him in practice a few times, has shared the gym when the volleyball and basketball clubs were finalising measurements for upcoming tournaments. How he’s always admired his athleticism and skill. Shouyou glows through the praise – happy and embarrassed but still a little confused.

“Hinata, you… you like boys, right?” Honda finally mumbles, his face tilted so far down to the ground Shouyou can’t even see it anymore, even though the other boy is so much taller.

“I do,” Shouyou confirms, some wariness replacing the confusion. _Oh_. Now he’s starting to get where this is going. And this is lovely really, this really, _super_ flattering, but now he’s got to let this poor guy down and-

“Would you like to-“

“I have a boy,” Shouyou blurts, interrupting Honda’s question before he can finish. Immediately, his face lights up and he rubs at his cheeks in humiliation. _God_ , that was rude. And horribly awkward. He clears his throat and forces himself to look back up at Honda – who is staring at him in muted horror. “I mean, I’m… not available,” he says slowly. “I’m really sorry.” He tries to sound as apologetic as possible, but it still comes out strangled.

“No, no! Don’t apologise! My friend, he said that you-“ Honda breaks off and rubs the back of his head. “I guess that’s why he said that…” he trails off and bends low into a bow. “I’m sorry to bother you!”

“Okay we can’t both apologise,” Shouyou says diplomatically, patting at Honda’s shoulders until the other boy straightens up. “I’m really flattered though! I hope you find someone who can receive your praises,” he tells Honda earnestly, because it’s true.

Honda nods a little too rapidly, still as red in the face as Shouyou is sure himself is, and with a little awkward wave, he thanks Shouyou and hurries off down the corridor.

“You’re late,” Kageyama accuses him when he wanders through the gym doors ten minutes later, out of breath from his rush to get there, and still in a bit of a daze.

“I just got a confession,” Shouyou pants, and then blanches at the look on his boyfriend’s face. “What?”

“And how was that?” Kageyama asks, his voice all tight and strange. He’s gripping the volleyball he’s holding so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He’s not angry, Shouyou can always tell when he’s angry, but he does look enormously uncomfortable.

“Err, a bit embarrassing, actually,” Shouyou admits. “He was younger – second year, I think? On the basketball team. He was really flattering and stuff but… _wow_ , geez, what’s that face for?”

Kageyama’s face has crumpled into a very complex, constipated sort of frown. Again, not angry, but… maybe?

“Yamayama, are you jealous?” Shouyou teases, tilting his head with a grin.

“ _No,”_ Kageyama says, forcefully, around his pout.

Shouyou’s smile slides off his face as he considers his boyfriend. Kageyama never lies, ever, he’s always honest to a fault - if he says he’s not jealous then Shouyou believes him. So, if he’s not jealous then he’s… “Tobio,” Shouyou says gently, closing the gap between them and tugging the ball out of Kageyama’s hands so he can hold them instead. “You know just because a nice basketball player says some nice things to me I’m not gonna run off with them right? People still fall all over you even when you’re holding a staring match with the vending machine but you’re still with _me_ , right?”

Kageyama hums, his cheeks staining pink as his embarrassment makes itself known.

“Dummy,” Shouyou says fondly, lifting himself up on his toes to press a kiss to each red cheek. “Just because I got my first confession doesn’t mean I’ll-“

“Second,” Kageyama interrupts, tugging on Shouyou’s hands and scowling at him. “I was first.”

“Um, excuse me, _I_ confessed to _you_ ,” Shouyou says indignantly, letting go of Kageyama’s hands so he can loop one arm around his setter’s neck to draw his head down (he’s gotten so _tall_ recently, it’s so not fair.)

“I still said something!” Kageyama protests, even as Shouyou hauls him down low enough that he can scrape his teeth across his jaw and start nibbling at the sensitive junction between his earlobe and his neck.

“Doesn’t count,” Shouyou sing-songs into his ear, and then breaks into giggles when Kageyama starts blowing violent raspberries into his neck to get him to shut up.

Shouyou is still eighteen when he and Kageyama agree to a long-distance relationship.

“We’re not stopping this right?” Shouyou had asked him the day Kageyama had told him he was moving, far away from Miyagi. So many things had happened in the last few months he was still dizzy with the changes – Kageyama’s invitation to join the Schweiden Adlers, beach volleyball training, a visa application.

They’ve gone from being by each other’s sides every day to seeing each other only when their suddenly incredibly busy schedules permit, and Shouyou wouldn’t change the things that are keeping them apart for the world but it still sucks, sometimes.

He shuffles a bit where he’s draped on top of Kageyama’s body, pressed all along the length of him like a human blanket. Kageyama makes a curious noise below him and runs a hand down his back so Shouyou buries his face in Kageyama’s t-shirt and clarifies: “us. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to either,” Kageyama says immediately after, and Shouyou breathes a small sigh of relief.

Shouyou is nineteen when he realises red might not be his colour.

He’s just booked his plane ticket to Brazil for a few months’ time and is on his way to Kageyama’s flat for his monthly visit to tell him. He’s barely rapped his knuckles against Kageyama’s front door when it swings open suddenly and then his boyfriend is standing there with the widest eyes Shouyou has ever seen on him.

“Kageyama?” Shouyou asks, feeling worry bubble up cold and insistent at the shocked look on his partner’s face.

“I… the national team,” Kageyama wheezes. “They just called-“

Shouyou drops the bag he’s holding. “You got on the national team?” He demands, loudly, his heart thundering away in his chest.

Kageyama can only manage a furious nod, his slacked, shocked expression morphing into a wobbly, wide smile across his face. His eyes look suspiciously bright.

Shouyou immediately starts yelling.

A small part of him (okay, quite a large part) is hopelessly, _seethingly,_ jealous because Kageyama’s done it, he’s made it to the world stage and there’s nothing Shouyou wants more than to stand on it too and when he’s alone he’ll ruminate on it, probably, but for now this is Kageyama’s moment. So he squashes the green-eyed monster down, and lets his elation fill him up instead, because he knows nobody, _nobody_ , deserves this more than Kageyama does right now.

He flings his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and hangs off of him as he squeezes him so tightly Kageyama wheezes a bit. “ _Kageyama_!” He yells at full volume. “Japan!”

“Stop shouting in my ear dumbass,” Kageyama complains, but his voice sounds all tight and wobbly.

Shouyou lets go of him so he can look him in the eye again and proceeds to just shout in his face instead, until Kageyama is shouting back in elation too, and then the old man down the corridor joins in with all the shouting to tell them to _shut up_.

And then Kageyama is pulling him inside and they’re both silenced when Shouyou drags Kageyama down by his shirt to seal their lips together in a fierce, _proud_ kiss.

“Red will suit you,” Shouyou says later, when he’s sitting astride Kageyama’s thighs and running his hands over his bare back. Kageyama lets out a soft _‘hmmm?_ ’ and shifts slightly when Shouyou digs his fingers into a little knot of muscle he finds.

(Kageyama has such a nice back – broad and flawless and one of Shouyou’s favourite things to do is run his hands over it when Kageyama is sleepy and lazy with afterglow.)

“The team strip,” Shouyou elaborates, “it’s red. S’nice colour on you.”

And it is. It makes the blue in Kageyama’s eyes pop and matches nicely with his hair. Kageyama looks good in any jersey, really, because he’s tall and broad and has nice features to accentuate. It’s one of the many things Shouyou’s a little jealous of, because it was only in their third year that he started filling out his own jersey properly.

Kageyama turns his head slightly on his pillow to squint up at him. “It’s gonna clash with your hair,” he mumbles.

Shouyou immediately bristles and digs his fingers into Kageyama’s sides, who squirms violently. “What does that mean?” He demands.

Large hands come out from where they were pillowed under Kageyama’s head to grab at his own and the setter bucks and shifts until Shouyou raises himself up on his knees so Kageyama can roll onto his back. “When you get yours,” Kageyama clarifies. “Red doesn’t go with orange.”

Letting out a little wail, Shouyou flops forward to bury his face in his boyfriend’s chest, ignoring Kageyama’s little _‘oomf’_. Kageyama just… says things like this sometimes. In anyone else’s mouth it’d sound like a platitude to make him feel better but Kageyama is always heartbreakingly honest and if he says Shouyou will have a Japan national team jersey one day, he means it.

“Red does _too_ go with orange, they’re basically the same,” he protests against Kageyama’s skin. He’s annoyed at the insult that wasn’t even _meant_ as an insult (Kageyama is just a dummy who doesn’t realise how rude he is sometimes) and he’s embarrassed but he’s also giddy with glee. He feels fingers slide into his hair and he turns his face just enough so he can peek up at Kageyama.

“I don’t think it does,” Kageyama says, very seriously, and Shouyou mashes his hands against his stupid, handsome face.

Shouyou is twenty-one when he gets his first taste of _attention._

Heitor, after many invitations and Shouyou turning down almost every single one of them, has finally gotten him to join him for a night out.

“Shouyou,” he’d said, hands on his shoulders, “you cannot leave Brazil without having one night out with us. Just a couple of drinks and a bit of dancing. Let yourself have fun.”

And Shouyou had agreed, because he did really enjoy Heitor’s company, and his time in Brazil was running out, fast, and he supposes it would be shame if didn’t join him at least once.

“Nice will be there too,” Heitor had promised. “We’re not gonna go crazy.”

Which is how Shouyou finds himself at a bar, nursing some fruity concoction that Nice had ordered for him when he told her he didn’t like beer much. He swings his feet from his perch on the barstool and watches Heitor spin his wife on the dancefloor, sipping his drink through a lurid pink straw. He’s going to hop down and join them in a minute, but first he just wants to watch them for a bit.

“Hi there,” a feminine voice says by his ear and he almost jumps a foot in the air.

It belongs to a pretty blonde in a floaty dress and lots of jewellery that glitters under the lights of the bar. “You’re cute, what’s your name?”

“Shouyou,” Shouyou stutters out, and takes a panic sip of his drink.

“Ohhh _, different_ ,” she coos, and she runs one hand down his arm from his shoulder to his elbow. Shouyou resists the urge to squirm. “Where’re you from, cutie?”

“Japan…” Shouyou says slowly, hoping that’s a vague enough answer for her. He has no idea what she wants and why she’s looking at him like that, but it’s making him feel very uncomfortable.

She makes another interested hum and turns her head to call out to another girl – a brunette – who’s a little ways down the bar. Her friend joins her and leans over her shoulder, gazing down at Shouyou with heavily made-up eyes. “This is Shouyou, he’s from _Japan_ ,” the blonde says, her voice all light and flirtatious.

The brunette giggles and steps around her friend, placing one manicured hand on Shouyou’s knee. “Far away,” she breathes, leaning in even further and too far into Shouyou’s personal space. Shouyou jiggles his knee sharply to dislodge her hand and opens his mouth to say something when:

“Sorry ladies!” Another voice interrupts, and then there’s Nice, throwing an arm around his shoulders and tugging him gently so he’s leaning away from the two girls. “This one’s taken.”

The girls both huff and sigh coquettishly, and the blonde winks playfully at Shouyou, before they collect their drinks from the bar top and slip away into the crowd.

Nice gives his shoulder a squeeze, keeping her arm around him in a one-armed hug. “Sorry, sweetie, people can be a little too much here. You okay? You looked a little spooked.”

“It just took me by surprise,” Shouyou smiles up at her gratefully. “I’m not used to that sort of stuff!”

Nice tilts her head at him, confused. “Really?”

Shouyou mimics her, just as baffled, and then Heitor is joining them, depositing an empty beer bottle on the bar counter.

“Maybe we should find somewhere quieter,” Heitor suggests, his smile equal parts kind and sheepish. “I forgot how busy it is in here, sorry Shouyou!”

“It’s okay!” Shouyou hurries to placate, not wanting to spoil his friend’s night.

“Nah, c’mon, I know somewhere more your pace, I think,” Heitor insists, and Shouyou’s soon slurping down the last of his drink and following him out of the bar, Heitor’s head bobbing above everyone else’s, acting as beacon.

As they’re strolling down the street to the destination Heitor has in mind, Nice slots her arm through Shouyou’s. “People must find you too intimidating, Ninja Shouyou, if you’re not used to attention,” she says with a grin, “you’ve got a lot of admirers on the beach.”

“I… do?” Shouyou replies, thrown for a loop. His cheeks heat and he rubs the back of his head, flustered. There was always a crowd on the beach, but they were there to watch volleyball, surely? He knows people find him interesting – a ginger Japanese guy on the beach every day isn’t exactly common - and he’s secretly very fond of the nickname he’s been bestowed, but _admirers?_

“You’re too humble, Shouyou,” Heitor laughs, ruffling his hair. “If I wasn’t already married to the most beautiful woman in the world, I’d be jealous.”

“I’m sure they’re just there to watch the matches…” Shouyou protests weakly. He can feel a blush worming its way up his neck.

“Hmm… you’re too focused on volleyball to notice, I think,” Nice says, but her smile is kind, not mocking. “You’re very handsome, Shouyou, of course people will admire you.”

“Well if anyone does catch your eye,” Heitor continues, as Shouyou does his very best not to combust on the spot, “let me know, I’ll be your wingman!”

“But I have one!” Shouyou says, and when Heitor’s eyes light up he rushes to clarify. “A boyfriend!” He blurts, but in his fluster he reverts back to Japanese.

Nice and Heitor both blink at him, obviously confused and Shouyou clucks his tongue, frustrated. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he scrabbles to think of the word in Portuguese and comes up empty. He mustn’t have needed to use it yet.

“Girlfriend?” Nice offers, pointing at herself. “Partner. Lover.”

“Ahh…” Shouyou dithers, suddenly unsure. The easy answer would be to say ‘yes’ and then the conversation would end, but it wouldn’t be the truth. He likes Heitor and Nice a lot, they’re wonderful, but would they be okay with him having a _boyfriend?_

They’re both looking at him with patient, happy smiles and Shouyou decides to steel his nerves and go for it.

“Umm… boy,” he says, pointing at Heitor to make his point clear.

“Oh!” Nice says, eyes round. “Boyfriend!”

“Yes, yes,” Shouyou confirms, and shuffles his feet awkwardly, until Heitor runs a friendly hand back over his hair and chuckles and he stills, flooding warm with sudden relief.

Nice flaps her hands at him excitedly. “Pictures!” She demands.

Shouyou rummages around in his pocket for his phone and switches it on, flipping through his camera roll until he finds a nice one of Kageyama. It’s from their third year, when they were on their way home from practice during summer. Kageyama had been distracted by something in a shop window – Shouyou can’t even remember what it was now – but his profile had been lit so nicely by the evening sunshine that he’d whipped his phone out for a quick photo.

“Handsome,” Nice approves.

“He is,” Shouyou agrees, a stupid smile wobbling over his face.

“He’s very lucky to have you,” Nice tells him earnestly, and Shouyou feels like he could melt into a happy puddle right there on the pavement.

The bar that Heitor eventually leads them into is similar to the one before at first glance, with people drinking and dancing, but the width and breadth of patrons reveals itself to be much wider. There are people of all ages, happy and laughing, and the music is bright with an easy to dance to beat. Shouyou chirps excitedly – it looks fun here.

As Nice leaves them on the dancefloor to fetch them drinks, Heitor slings an arm around Shouyou’s shoulders and asks him, “that guy, your boyfriend? He in the Olympics?”

“Yeah,” Shouyou smiles, pride bubbling away in his gut. “Kageyama Tobio, he’s Japan’s setter on the indoor volleyball team.”

Heitor blows out an impressed whistle. “You sure aim high,” he comments with a grin. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Part of it, yeah.”

“I bet he’s proud of you too, you know,” Heitor tells him, soft and sincere. “Coming all the way here on your own and doing what you’re doing. When I watch the next Olympics, I wanna see you on the court with him, okay?” He raises a fist.

Shouyou bumps it with his own, a grin splitting his face. “I will be!” He promises.

Shouyou is twenty-two when the MSBY Black Jackals defeat the Schweiden Adlers.

There’s a strange sort of ringing in his ears from the moment the whistle blows – and everything is muted. He’s vaguely aware of Astumu hugging him from behind and then someone else is lifting him clear off his feet (Bokuto, probably) and then more hands – on his shoulders, his back and in his hair. He’s laughing throughout, he thinks, but everything is fuzzy and distorted with the amount of emotion surging through him and he feels like he could possibly be crying as well.

It’s only when he ducks under the netting after exchanging the obligatory handshake to find himself in front of Kageyama that sound sharpens clear and bright in his mind again.

“Congratulations,” Kageyama says in his ear as he sweeps him up in the biggest, warmest hug Shouyou has ever received. Shouyou wants to kiss him, desperately, because he’s never heard Kageyama sound so _proud_ in his life, but neither of them are ready to announce themselves to world yet. So he buries his face in Kageyama’s broad shoulder and grips the back of his jersey and grins so wide his face aches and lets a tear soak into white fabric.

The hours after the game are a blur of celebration, interviews, and a whole Karasuno team reunion he did _not_ expect and was thrilled about beyond measure. Through it all there was Kageyama in his periphery, by his side or at least never too far from his line of sight. And even though Hinata’s been back in Japan for a few months now he’s barely gotten to see his boyfriend – swept up in training and games and just so much _volleyball._ He loves it, of course he does, but he also loves Kageyama and he’s just _missed_ him too much for too long.

So when the opportunity presents itself, he snags Kageyama by the wrist and they make a beeline for Hinata’s room in the hotel the Black Jackals are staying in.

“You were amazing,” Kageyama says, his voice low and gravelly as he mouths his way down Shouyou’s neck. “You looked _incredible_.”

Shouyou sobs a gasp and tilts his head further, hair spreading haphazardly across the bedsheets. “I told you,” he croaks as Kageyama sucks at a particularly sensitive spot by his collarbone. “I was gonna beat you one day.”

“I’ll get you next time,” Kageyama promises, a smile in his voice, as he nips at skin.

“Next time?” Shouyou whispers, dizzy with happiness.

Kageyama pauses his slow decent down Shouyou’s torso to look at him. “Well, you’re here now, there’ll be lots of next times,” he points out, and he says it so simply that Shouyou really does sob. Emotion bubbling up through him until there’s hot tears leaking down his cheeks and Kageyama is stretching up to kiss them away, hands smoothing his hair and whispering praises into his skin as Shouyou shakes and shakes with the weight of it all.

Shouyou is twenty-three when Kageyama suggests they should live together. He says yes immediately.

They’ve both been ready for this for what feels like years, but logistics have gotten in the way. But now, with their careers in place and the national team calling for them _both_ , it can finally happen.

It’s a relatively normal Sunday, about two weeks after Shouyou moved into Kageyama’s flat, that he experiences one of the most flattering, and strangest, experiences of his life.

It’s started by something incredibly boring and mundane – walking into the bedroom after a morning shower, one towel looped around his waist and another in his hands as he rubs it along his damp hair. The room is empty – presumably Kageyama has wandered off into the kitchen – so he’s free to dump the damp towels on the floor without any grumbling and slip on his underwear.

He turns around to rummage in the chest of drawers for a shirt and spots Kageyama in the bedroom doorway, staring at him.

“I left the towels in the bathroom,” he lies instantly, and tries to push the evidence under the bed with his foot. Kageyama hates damp towels on the floor for some inane reason.

Kageyama doesn’t say anything, instead crossing the distance between them until he’s standing right on front of him and cupping his jaw, tilting his head up for a kiss. Shouyou hums appreciatively against him, and opens his mouth eagerly when prompted, toes curling when Kageyama sucks at his bottom lip.

His partner puffs out a little sigh and leans back, his fingers dancing across Shouyou’s shoulders and chest, blue eyes dark and intense.

“Good morning,” Shouyou says with a smile, and huffs a laugh when Kageyama dives for him again, dodging out of the way. “I’ve just had a shower!” He protests.

“Well you will just stand there looking like that,” Kageyama grumbles, spreading his palms across Shouyou’s shoulder blades.

“I am in my pants,” Shouyou says, amused.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Kageyama agrees, voice low and gravelly.

“Boxers and crazy hair doing it for you huh?” Shouyou teases as Kageyama nuzzles at his jaw.

“Mmhmm,” Kageyama hums against his throat. “Y’look good.”

“I don’t, but thank-you,” Shouyou says with smile, because he doesn’t – his skin is shower-pink and his hair is doing all sorts of weird and wonderful things, wild until he gets a comb through it, and he really is just standing there in his underwear. He hasn’t even got a nice shirt on or anything.

Kageyama pulls back and squints down at him. “What do you mean?” He demands.

“Well I’m just-“ Shouyou waves down at himself vaguely. “I haven’t even got any clothes on ‘Yama.”

“So?”

“So…?” Shouyou repeats, a little confused.

“Why does that matter? You don’t need clothes to look good.”

Shouyou looks down at himself, assessing. He’s in good shape, he knows, he’s fit and lean and he has nice muscle definition on his arms and thighs but he’s not like an _Adonis_ or anything. In fact, compared to Kageyama, who’s over a head taller and sculpted with pretty eyes and glossy hair that does _not_ stick up every which way, he just looks a little normal. Normal with electric hair.

Kageyama huffs with annoyance and Shouyou glances up with a raised brow.

“Are you serious? Do you not know how… _amazing_ you look? How dumb are you?”

Shouyou opens and closes his mouth like a fish, feeling a little like he has whiplash from the compliment followed by the immediate insult. “Okay hang on-“

He doesn’t get to finish as Kageyama crowds him then, urging him to sit on the bed and then fully lie down across the sheets. Shouyou goes willingly, staring up at his boyfriend, pliant and curious. Kageyama straddles his hips and runs his hands over his shoulders and upper arms, staring down at him with hot blue intensity.

“ _These_ are incredible,” Kageyama states, palms skirting across his skin. “Do you know how distracting you are in a shirt? Everything _clings._ ”

“Oh my God,” Shouyou snorts. “Yours do that too you know.”

“We’re talking about you now,” Kageyama says airily. “But you know why they’re so great? It just shows how hard you’ve worked. When you came back from Brazil-“ he breaks off to lift one of Hinata’s arms up so he can press kisses to the sensitive skin on the underside. “I could _see_ the difference."

Shouyou melts a bit into the bed, pink dusting over his cheekbones.

Kageyama lets go of his arm to trail his fingertips across Shouyou’s toned abdomen, fingers rising and falling over his abdominal muscles. “You’ve got a really bad habit of lifting the bottom of your shirt to wipe sweat away,” he says, frowning. “And these are just left _gleaming_ , it’s ridiculous.” He darts down to lick a stripe from Shouyou’s navel up to his breastbone and Shouyou gasps sharply, bucking.

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” Shouyou mumbles, dropping the arm Kageyama had held up across his eyes as his blush deepens with happy embarrassment.

“ _Oi_ , don’t do that,” Kageyama protests, tugging his arm away. “You have to watch. You have nice eyes too, by the way.”

“They’re brown.”

“They’re a _nice_ brown. Like pudding,” Kageyama says thoughtfully, and Shouyou snickers – Kageyama really cannot get through an hour without thinking of food.

Kageyama shuffles down on the bed, off of Shouyou's lap and drags his hands down Shouyou’s thighs. Almost unconsciously, Shouyou bends his knees, feet sliding over the sheets, until his thighs are raised and Kageyama bends immediately, nosing down the inside of one of them. “ _These_ are my favourite,” he murmurs, nibbling along the meat of it until the muscle is twitching.

Shouyou bites his bottom lip and squirms. This one he knows, because Kageyama has made no secret of how he’s a little bit obsessed with his legs. His partner lavishes attention on them – dragging his lips across the skin of one while massaging the quads of the other with one large hand.

Eventually, he places one more kiss to Shouyou’s thigh before slipping further down (good thing too really, or Shouyou would have to insist on something else.) He drags his fingers down his thighs and across his knees – “bit knobbly,” he says and Shouyou bubbles out a laugh – caressing his shins and cupping his calves. The touches are slow and loving and Shouyou lets a long, content sigh slip out, a lazy smile spreading over his face.

Kageyama brushes over his ankles before poking the soles of his feet, smirking when Shouyou jerks them away with a giggle. “Small feet,” he comments with a smirk, poking them again until Shouyou reaches down blindly through his giggling to try and stop him. His feet are stupidly ticklish – a fatal flaw Kageyama exposes often.

Capturing Shouyou’s hands in his, Kageyama slinks his way back up the bed, pressing kisses along his body as he goes. Shouyou melts under the attention. It’s heartwrenchingly intimate, and Shouyou’s heart flips and skips in affection and joy as his boyfriend nuzzles and nudges his way up his body. He feels loved and treasured and _special_ in a way only Kageyama seems to achieve. Eventually, his partner is level with his face, and Shouyou cranes his neck up for a long, slow kiss.

Kageyama breaks away first, settling himself more comfortably on top of him and Shouyou slides one arm across his shoulders, dragging his hand over the cotton shirt and cradling him close. His other arm is still being held by Kageyama – who holds his smaller hand in his larger one and rubs their matching calluses together. He doesn’t need to say anything for this one – they both have a fixation with each other’s hands.

Giving his hand one last squeeze, Kageyama lets it go and flops his head down on the pillow beside Shouyou’s, running his fingers through his hair.

“This, I can’t help you with. This is a mess,” he says honestly and Shouyou laughs loudly and brightly because well, it’s true. His hair is always _terrible_ freshly dried.

“It’s a nice colour though,” Kageyama offers.

“It’s orange.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice. _Apparently_ it’s basically the same as red.”

Shouyou snorts and rolls his eyes because Kageyama will never let that go. But he turns his head all the same and presses a kiss to the tip of Kageyama’s nose. “Thank-you,” he says, soft and heartfelt.

“Hmmm… I tell you this stuff all the time, though, I really don’t know why you still need reminding,” Kageyama says.

“No you don’t,” Shouyou contests, but it’s in good humour. “Maybe in your head you do.” Because Shouyou does the same – he has a bad habit of letting his mind get away from him screaming about how good Kageyama looks that occasionally his mouth forgets to catch up and form the words.

A crease forms between Kageyama’s brows. “I don’t?” He asks, quietly.

Shouyou huffs out a little yawn, sleepy and warm with Kageyama – who is well over six feet tall and currently fully dressed – pressing him into the mattress like a duvet. “Nah. It’s okay though, you don’t need to. I know you love me.” Because he does, Kageyama shows him that in so many different ways beyond compliments about his appearance.

Kageyama is suspiciously quiet beside him and Shouyou nudges at his shoulder. “Tobio?”

“I don’t tell you you’re handsome?” Kageyama asks, quiet and serious and he actually looks a little distressed – with a furrowed brow and his lips pressed into a thin line.

Shouyou blinks. “Tobio…”

“I can’t do, if you still don’t think it,” Kageyama says, still sounding like he’s committed a great sin.

Shouyou slides a hand to his boyfriend’s hair to run his fingers through the silky strands. “It’s okay, I wasn’t looking for you to-“

“But you tell me,” Kageyama interrupts, frustrated. “You tell me all the time.”

“Do I?” Shouyou wonders. Maybe his mouth does follow along with what his brain is babbling sometimes. “Anyway. Tobio. It really doesn’t matter…”

“It does.” Kageyama insists. He rolls himself up onto his elbows, looking down at Shouyou with a fierce, determined expression. “I can’t let you… _shower me_ with compliments while you stand there and not think you’re special,” he rants.

“Won’t let me out do you huh?” Shouyou murmurs, trying to for humour while his voice wobbles dangerously.

“I will tell you every day,” Kageyama promises, for once not falling for Shouyou’s bait. His face is serious and sincere and Shouyou frames it with his hands. He loves this stupid man so much.

“Okay,” he manages, throat too tight with overwhelming happiness to say much more and he caresses Kageyama’s cheeks with his thumbs before looping his arms around his neck to draw him back down to him to hug him fiercely.

Kageyama cradles him gently and they lay there, curled in the bedsheets, until the setter’s forever hungry stomach makes itself known and Shouyou has to prod and poke at him until he lets him get up and finally get dressed so he can start cooking.

If Kageyama is going to spend the morning making him feel bulletproof, the least he can do is make him breakfast.

“I’m really not upset you know,” Shouyou tells Kageyama as they stand side-by-side and wash the dishes together after their meal.

Kageyama runs the tea towel over the plate he’s holding slowly before he eventually says, “when we were in high school, you were upset you didn’t get many confessions.”

“Where did that come from?” Shouyou questions, bemused, as he hands his partner another dish.

“It’s because it made you feel you weren’t good enough, right?” Kageyama continues. “Like no-one wanted to?”

“Actually, I think I was just mostly annoyed you were getting more attention,” Shouyou admits, drying his hands and leaning on the counter, staring off into the middle distance. “I really didn’t care at all after we got together, and I would have had to turn down everyone anyway.”

There’s a clink as Kageyama puts the last dish away and he turns his head to look at him. His boyfriend’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s still frowning, his mouth pursed in an unhappy little pout. “Tobio,” Shouyou says warmly. “This really isn’t some failing on your part.”

“I’m your _partner!”_ Kageyama bursts, folding his arms. “I’m supposed to… make sure you feel good,” he mumbles around his pursed mouth.

“You do!” Shouyou laughs and reaches out to wrench Kageyama’s arms open so he can hug him. “You make me feel _amazing_. It’s not like I have terrible body issues or something, I just didn’t see myself as overwhelmingly attractive as you seem to,” he insists, keeping his voice light and teasing.

Some of the tension eases from Kageyama’s face, slowly softening into a very small smile.

“I just… always saw myself as just short and kind of plain, I guess. Other than the hair,” Shouyou continues, “and then there was you, all dark and handsome and _tall_ -“

“One day,” Kageyama interrupts with a pointed look, “you are going to learn to let that go.”

“You really do make me feel good,” Shouyou insists. “In more ways than just what I look like.” He gives his partner a squeeze. “Compliments _are_ nice though.”

Kageyama snorts and squeezes him back.

Shouyou is twenty-four and is a wing spiker on the starting line-up of Japan’s national men’s volleyball team. He’s still short. His hair is still orange and does _not_ clash with the red of the team jersey. He still thinks his boyfriend is the most handsome man to walk the Earth.

And every now and then, Kageyama draws him close and tells him over and over how _he_ is the most handsome, and Shouyou buries himself close and lets himself believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Haikyuu S4 day!! probably maybe it depends on your timezone i guess
> 
> if you would like to scream about haikyuu with me, i'm over on twitter @Emlee_J


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